


The Lines Begin to Blur

by lacat123



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Angel Blades (Supernatural), Angel Castiel (Supernatural), Angel Wings, Boys In Love, Boys Kissing, Castiel (Supernatural)'s Trenchcoat, Castiel's Nickname is Cas (Supernatural), Dean Winchester Loves Burgers, Dean Winchester Loves Pie, First Kiss, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, I'm Sorry, M/M, Pie, Rewrite, Rewrite of Take These Broken Wings, Sam Winchester Loves Health Food, Season/Series 08, Tissue Warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-13
Updated: 2019-01-13
Packaged: 2019-10-09 13:27:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17407775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lacat123/pseuds/lacat123
Summary: Castiel finally understands the feelings he has for Dean. The widening of his pupils, his racing pulse. But Dean never showed any of those signs, not once, towards him. So why had the hunter just kissed him? And why was his heart suddenly so cold?





	The Lines Begin to Blur

**Author's Note:**

> Hey y'all! So I was re-reading one of my older fics, Take These Broken Wings, and decided to re-write it. I feel I've made a good amount of progress in the last few months, so I wanted to compare the two finished stories. A few hours later, this was born. 
> 
> You don't have to have read the original fic, but I'd love feedback from people comparing the two! If you read the original, and know the ending, I hope you'd read this one too!
> 
>  
> 
> [Take These Broken Wings](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16511009)
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Warnings in bottom notes, as always!

The sunlight washed over the floor, alighting the grey carpet in gold. It reached out slowly towards a table and chairs, covering everything it touched with light. It peeked out from behind dirty curtains. The worn red fabric was littered with dust and stains. 

Over hours it covered the room, blanketing the two beds, the table, the TV. A pair of heavy boots and a red flannel folded carefully over the back of a chair. Soon, it's task nearly complete, it retreated down the horizon in a burst of color. 

A man sat on a bed. One of his hands played unconsciously with a thread poking up from the stained comforter, rolling the thin white yarn through his fingers. It twisted round each of the digits, knotting over and over until there was no longer enough to hold on to. It was only then the man let go, deciding instead to bunch up the seam of his overcoat. 

There was a reflection in his blue eyes of the TV, half covered by the setting sun's glare. A jingle played through the room, constant companion to the infomercial playing itself out on the screen. 

The man's head tilted slightly, his lips drawing into a confused frown. Why would anyone need to make their faces have less wrinkles? 

He sorted slowly through his recollection, finally thinking back to a few days ago. Dean standing in the bathroom, looking into the mirror. His fingers pulling the skin on his forehead attempting to even it out. A muttered 'guess I'm getting old'. 

He knew wrinkles were a sign of old age. He would've thought they were seen as symbols of respect, similar to many cultures traditional beliefs. But what did he know? He wasn't human. 

The angel let the hem of his tan coat drop, fingers moving to the black remote that sat beside him. He looked carefully over the buttons, trying to remember which button did what. Up means more sound, down less. Circle and line equals power. He moved the pad of his finger over that one before decidedly pressing down. The images on the screen disappeared into black, turning it into a foggy mirror. 

Castiel could just make out the blurry shape where his head was, his shoulders, before the rest of his body disappeared beyond the edge. 

Not his body, he reminded himself. His vessel. 

He seemed to be forgetting that more and more often. 

He sat, simply staring at the silver clock. The soft clicking it emitted was the only sound in the air, perfectly in time with the little black hand that moved steadily closer towards the twelve. 

According to the clock, and the commercial's counter, it had been thirty one minutes since Dean had left. He said it would take him thirty to get to the store, pick up his lunch, and come back. 

The logical part of him said to not worry; he was a minute late, not an hour. 

But the hand crept steadily closer the those digits, and soon another rotation began. 

Thirty two minutes. 

The time passed slowly. He was alone with only his thoughts, and today wasn't a good day for him. Today had been filled with nightmares and flashbacks and things he wanted more than anything to forget. 

Forests with muted colors. All except red. Against the grey-green of the ground, the blood had been a garish makeup. 

It had dripped down Dean's face that night, stark against the pale pallor of his skin. Even his bright green eyes had paled in comparison. His hands clutched in his coat tightly as he set his leg had been even more covered in the colorful liquid. It had transferred onto the tan fabric, hand prints which stained the material for weeks. 

That night was forever burned into his mind. The screams, the whimpers. Dean begging him to just do it, to give him his belt and stick through his teeth like a gag. Or a bit.

As much as he tried to push those thoughts from his head, they pushed back. Like those MMA fighters Dean was always watching. No matter what was done to them, they seemed to come back fighting. 

He wasn't in Purgatory anymore. He wasn't living in constant fear, not for himself, not for Dean. 

No, he was in a motel room in Tulsa, waiting for Dean to come back with his dinner. Sam was interviewing the latest suspect of their case. Everything was better than it had been in-

years. 

He could hear a key fitting into the lock, a loud sound compared to the soft clicking of the clock as the minute hand shifted from five to six. He stood, unsure what to do as the door squeaked open. 

He looked into Dean's eyes, alight with happiness. He walked into the room, slamming the door shut behind him and heavily setting the bags he was holding down on the table. Cas could see that it was filled with Fritos, a burger, a slice of pie, and a salad. Always a salad. 

Dean reached into the bag and pulled the wrapped sandwich from the plastic.

"Hey-a, Cas. Have fun while I was gone?" He sent a wink his way, plopping down on the bed and throwing his feet up onto the blanket. "Did you use the Magic Fingers like I told you?" 

"No, Dean, I was watching the television." He continued to stand awkardly, watching as the hunter tore open the paper and took a bite into the burger. A drip went down the bread onto his fingers, before falling onto the comforter. Another stain added. "Why were you late?"

"There was this smokin' hot babe serving behind the counter. I mean, on fire, triple C, double oh style. Can't blame a guy for trying." 

Cas felt something go through him, disturbingly like pain. It clenched around his heart, tightening like a vise. He watched as Dean took another huge bite, juices dripping down his chin, his lips. They looked so soft-

He blinked, surprised by his thoughts. Dean was his friend, and he was an angel. Nothing would ever happen between them. Nothing. 

Why did that make the vise so much tighter? 

"Turns out she was engaged. To this rich dude, too. Figures. She wouldn't stop going on and on about him, his Lambo, his Mustang." Dean sat up, throwing the empty wrapper across the room. It landed squarely on the carpet next to the trash. 

Cas continued to watch silently, unmoving from his spot glued to the floor. His mind couldn't stop replaying the way Dean's eyes had scrunched up in concentration before the shot, his lip caught slightly between his teeth. 

His eyes trailed lower, past his defined collar bone and to his chest. He was wearing a black shirt, as usual, but a lighter blue flannel. A new one, too. He wondered when Dean had gotten it. Probably while he had been in Purgatory. 

The lines crisscrossed over a fabric that looked soft even from his distance. Blues of varying shades as deep and beautiful as the sky on a perfect day. 

But then his gaze landed on a spot of red, and he instantly strode over to his friend's side.

"Why is there blood on your shirt? Did something happen?" He looked down and instantly realized how close he was to Dean. He could see the flecks of gold in his eyes, the shades of strawberry in his hair. The large stain that marred the shirt's fabric.

The hunter's mouth twisted up in a grin that didn't quite meet his eyes. Odd. "It's not blood, Cas. They really make the burger's juicy at that place." Even as he winked, the angel could tell that he was lying. That was defintely blood. He had seen enough of it to know by now. 

"Dean, we both know that's blood. Now tell me what-" His voice was cut off by a sudden mouth on his. It was warm and soft, lips twisting ever so slightly open against his closed. 

Hands gripped the back of his trench coat, reaching under and caressing over. He could feel his muscles relaxing, his lips part and accept the kiss. His own hands shifted across the shirt, feeling how the -yes, he had been right, soft- fabric shift and ripple above Dean's muscles. 

Teeth nipped softly against his mouth, and he felt himself nearly melt into the hunter's arms. 

He let himself get lost in the moment, the heat. The release of all his pent up longing that he didn't dare accept. It seemed like hours, yet seconds, when Dean finally pulled their lips apart. The world came slowly back around him. 

Their foreheads were together, and he very slowly opened his eyes. They met in a clash of forest and sky. Cas tried to find every one of those beautiful gold drops in the trees, count them all. 

But then they were gone. The gold, the green, everything. It felt as though his reality shifted and fell out from under him. As though his dream had suddenly turned into a nightmare. 

Because their beautiful day had turned into night, and that kaleidoscope of colors was replaced with only one:

Black. 

He tried to stumble away, but the grip on his coat turned menacing. Dean's lighthearted smile was no longer there, replaced by a sinister twist of those lips. 

Those lips which only seconds ago had been entwined with his. 

His side was suddenly fire, alight and burning. A sharp gasp escaped him, unable to hold in the sound with this much pain. He ripped his gaze away from darkness to look down at the silver handle which was poking out from his side. His trench coat was already turning red. 

"Aw, look at poor, little Cassie. The bird with no wings," Dean -no, whatever demon was possessing him- sneered. "The angel with no halo."

Dean's callused hands wrapped tight around the hilt of his angel blade and twisted cruelly. He couldn't help the scream that came unbidden as his knees collapsed under him and he fell to the floor. 

Dean had never been here, he realized dully. It had always been the demon. Blood from however it had broken the anti-possession sigil. That kiss to distract him and steal his blade from his wrist. 

He was dying. The blade hadn't stabbed his heart, but a bit more moving and it would. It will. This demon wanted to kill him. It had used Dean to do it. 

"You know, he can see, feel, everything right now, right? His hand gripping the blade, his lips still tingling. And my, are you a good kisser. A bit sloppy, but with some practice-" The blade twisted just a bit more. "Not that you'll have the chance to get any."

He knows how demonic possession of a human works. The demon decides how much the host could hear, see, feel. Back when Jimmy had still been alive, he had kept him generally deep, away from whatever pain or emotion he may have been feeling. But those few times where he had eaten a burger, mostly to blend in, he'd let him just slightly touch the world again. To taste his favorite food a few more times. 

The idea that after he-

after he died, Dean would have to live with knowing exactly how it felt to kill him? And worse, how Cas felt about him? 

So he did the only thing he could think of. He looked the demon straight in those black eyes, beyond into the soul of the man he knew. And he whispered. 

"I love you, Dean. I love you more than anything." His voice was wet, blood already filling his mouth and pooling in the corner of his lip. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner." 

For a second those beautiful features changed, into something like affection, before going back into the disgust of the demon. 

He could have imagined it, but he thought he heard a voice soft in his mind. Almost like a prayer before he fell. 

A prayer saying I love you, too. 

He vaguely heard the demon say something, but his vision was starting to grey, the world becoming blanched and drained of color. He didn't have long. 

That hand gripped the hilt once again, twisting sharply. The tip ever so slightly pierced his heart, and his grace exploded outwards into the world. 

With the tiny bit of consciousness that remained, he could feel himself drop to the floor. He knew the broken remains of his wings would be seared forever into the grey carpet below him. 

He wasn't scared; despite everything, he wasn't scared for anything but Dean. How would Dean react when the demon left him all he had was those two outlines burned onto the floor? How would he cope. 

He opened his eyes and focused them on the figure above him, blue shirt now stained with his blood. Along with that comforter. 

He noticed those features change once again, softening. He was getting harder to tell what was real, but those eyes were no longer black but sparkling green.

As though they held the stars. 

With the last of his strength, he made his lips move, his vocals vibrate. He forced his tongue to make syllables that it desperately didn't want to. He sent them to Dean, his own prayer, hoping that his love would hear him. Hoping he would understand all the things he hadn't had time to say. 

"I love you, De..."

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings:  
> Major Character Death.
> 
> Plot idea from mayanglesfall on tumblr:  
> “Just imagine Dean kissing Cas for the first time and Cas being completely shocked- and Dean taking advantage of the momentary lapse to stab Castiel with the angel blade; the demon laughing as the life fades from those blue eyes,”
> 
> I hope I did it justice the second time around! Love to hear feedback in the comments.
> 
> EDIT (3/19/19)- I have decided to turn the tag back to 'Choose not to use archive warnings'. After doing some research into the tags on AO3, I learned that this warning can be used in place of any of the others to signify that any of them could take place in the story. I hope you understand why I choose to do this, and still thanks to Strangeristalking for bringing this to my attention in the first place.


End file.
